The Riddle of Time

Photo Jul 01, 8 14 53 PM

I’m not sure where I’m going.

I really don’t understand how I got here.

All my life seems to have been spent waiting for the next event. Tomorrow. Next year.

Never now. Never present in this moment.

Ever jumping ahead.

Memories are meant to be cherished. Not obsessed over.  Memories, when indulged too deeply and too frequently, become a razorblade that severs our focus on reality.

What was, was. What is, is. That is all.

Painfully aware of my own mortality as I am, I’m having a bit of an unhinging of sorts, presently.  It seems to be that there are few manners in which to spend our limited time in this dimension which will have any true impact on the realm that survives us; that which will continue regardless of our existence or lack thereof.

If time waits for no one, then what the hell are we waiting for? That doesn’t seem fair, does it?

Rather time laughs, mocking, as we spend our lives in vain, waiting.

Ever waiting.

That doesn’t make sense.

Either jumping forward and missing now, or standing still refusing to move forward; Time makes a fool of me both ways.

So what is the answer?

Presence.

Awareness of This Moment.

Intentionally alive with Now.

Sounds simple, right?

What if, in truth, there is no answer?

Does it really matter what we do here if it’s going to be swept away in an instant when we fade to black?

Why do we chase the horizon when the tide will still catch us?

Is there a reason for this moment?

For any moment?

Since I’m going to die despite anything I do, does it matter what I do?

Que sera, sera.

I used to think I had some sort of talent; a reason for existing. That someday I would achieve some greatness.

I used to like to think of myself as a writer, as though I were worthy of such a calling.  Truth is, I have no self- discipline, and just enough good intentions to pave my own road to Hell.  I thought if I just had the time, the right music, the right space, the right software, the right moment, I could do it.

There it is. That moment I’ve been chasing again. It’s a slippery little bastard.

The reality is, I’m afraid of failing. So I make excuses. Valid ones even, living breathing excuses which are very real. However, excuses none the less.

Then there are times that I wonder if it’s even worth the excuses. Mayhaps its just not something I really want after all.

Mayhaps.

And when I seek the advice of wise counsel, I am told the best thing to do is write about it.

And I do.

And here I am.

And here you are.

And in this moment,

THIS moment,

I am a writer.

And I am free.

 

The Audience

Writing Prompt- Tourist

They are ever watchful, those tiny eyes we forget see more than we wish them to understand. Little sponges soaking up the dirty bits of common moments, our less than spotlight worthy performances behind the scenes of the theatrics we play for the world around us.

Ever following, ever learning.

Ever growing.

Ever changing.

We go through the motions- smile, pretend to care when needed. Nod, pretend to listen when expected. Agree, pretend to be compliant when demanded.

Then.

Curse, behind backs and amid shadows when needed.  Slam doors, when frustration leaves nothing else to do but walk away. Defy, because you know you’re right, after all.

Oh, the sights those little eyes see!

 

 

From one sheep, to another:

Natural-Writing Prompt

It’s frightening to me, thinking of all the pieces of ourselves we feel compelled to keep hidden from the world.

This need to fit in among the masses who, truth be told, care nothing for us and will notice nothing missing when at last we yield to what lies Beyond. The people we so desperately want to please are so desperately wanting to please everyone else that they don’t have time nor desire to notice you.

My entire life, fear of being judged ruled over me. Still does, though I am able now to recognize it. It’s not something one can just let go of once. It’s a process. It’s a choice. A choice that must be made every day, every moment.

Some moments, I’m braver than during others.

More often than I care to admit, I’m still afraid.

 

 

 

Rest

How do I begin when all I  see is the end?

There is no past,

no present,

no tomorrow.

Just a timeless dark that stretches into eternity

and reaches for my hand.

“Do you trust me?” it whispers.

My feet betray me as I step forward,

ever closer,

to the abyss that beckons me home.

 

 

So, why?

Why am I doing this?  I’m trying to figure it out. People blog to educate. To push agendas. To bitch and moan. Some do it to inspire others.

Some want you to believe in the impossible, so they blog about sensational stories and improbable explanations.

Some want you to see the world as they do, so they share their Truth to enlighten you.

Some want to be someone they can never be, so they create personas and offer the “woke up like this!” bullshit, forgetting people who know them IRL are still reading.  (Yeah, you aren’t fooling anyone, Sunshine.)

I have no interest in such things.

My motive is pure:

To write.

Because I can.

Because I need to.

Because if I don’t, I’ll die having never tried.

And that is something I cannot let happen.

 

The Journey Begins

Here it is. My first step. My leap of faith.

You know what my problem is?

I have zero consistency. I am stellar at creating plans and making promises to myself. However, life is what it is, and in the name of honesty I will admit that I keep none of the promises I make to myself. I strive to keep the ones I make to others, but I have become dependably- undependable and reliably-unreliable.  It is what it is. I own it.

So here. This is where I cut the bullshit. I’m not making any promises. I’m not making any plans. This is just me- real, unedited and not yet rated.

I have no idea what’s going to happen next.